


Headshots

by Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas, Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/pseuds/Mochas%20N%20Mayhem
Summary: In October of the year 2077, the Kingsman and Statesman were at the Statesman Las Vegas branch, in the middle of an investigation into a certain busybody businessman. When the bombs fell and the world collapsed into nuclear fallout, they went into cryogenic stasis in order to survive until the area was safe from radiation once more.A little over two hundred years later, a certain Courier awakens them in a quest for help.(In other words, pretend Kingsman happened in the Fallout universe, before the war. In the year 2281, the Kingsman awaken once more.)





	Headshots

**Author's Note:**

> So my wife challenged me to a fic duel, to write a Kingsman AU set in the Fallout universe. I started plotting, but then received this _lovely_ prompt from a wonderful anon, so. Here's a quick, one-shot for their prompt, that I hope you guys will enjoy!
> 
> Prompt: The Kingsman and Statesman get frozen for 200 years. The Courier releases them. Harry bonds with the courier over getting shot in the face
> 
> (Also. Blame my wife for the title, it was only going to be a working title until she saw it and started cackling! XD)

The first thing he knew as the cold white of the freeze receded from his consciousness was the loud hissing of air escaping a carefully sealed environment as movement before him signalled the raising of the door of his pod. He blinked quickly, his fingers flexing as they regained movement first, then his toes next, wiggling experimentally in what were certainly not his beloved Oxfords. He grimaced, the corners of his lips turning down every so slightly before he forced his expression to turn instead to a carefully neutral look of calm. The thudding sound of heavily booted feet stomping on the plastic tiling of the vault floor outside his pod were certainly _not_ what he would have expected to wake to, leaving him with only the unsettling realization that he had no idea what circumstances he was waking to, or _whom_ he waking to.

The gears of the pod stopped then, the door held more than high enough for Harry to push himself forward to take a step out of his home of the last…. however long it had been that he had been asleep. He didn’t have to fake the way his step faltered slightly, or the way he had to catch one hand on the side of the pod to keep from stumbling any further; neither was his cough feigned, as he breathed in deeply for the first time in most likely far too long, and his lungs took a second to remember how to function. It was reassuring, to a point, to hear coughing from either side of him, to hear other stumbling footsteps and then his of another pod opening; he wasn’t waking alone then. Good.

He took a moment, reassured somewhat by being in at least _some_ welcome company, to straighten himself, and to assess himself. He ran a hand down his chest, then sides, to smooth any wrinkles in the vault suit that might have somehow managed to impossibly form in the elastic fabric; his body felt just as he remembered it, his muscles still firm and slowly readying themselves to react should the need to move quickly arise, and it was clear he had lost no weight during his slumber. That was just as it should be, of course; the cryo-technology had been developed specifically to freeze the any possible progress of time. He felt also- laid perfectly into the lines of the suit at his hips- where he could draw the thin blades R &D had carefully hidden within their customized suits. He would have preferred a pistol, but not even Kingsman could have managed such a feat of hidden weaponry in something like a vault suit, much less the less-tailored team that had made up the Statesman R&D department. He knew _that_ for a fact, since he had asked- merely to agitate Merlin, of course, and it had worked beautifully. He had to bite back a small laugh at the memory of the exasperated Scot ranting about the fool and impossible demands of delusion agents.

There was a time and place for laughter at Merlin’s expense; this was neither the time, nor the place.

“Harry?”

Speaking of Merlin; it was the croak of the Scot’s voice that had called his name, and he turned to find the man. He was across the broad walkway from Harry, one hand clutched to the rim of his cryopod to hold himself aright. Mostly a feint, Harry could see from the lines of his body, the way he held himself, but it was only many years of familiarity that gave him such insight. Harry nodded, just slightly, and returned;

“Hamish.”

Given names only, for the moment, and at that, first names only. He still didn’t know who had awakened them, and they would all be careful to hide the truth of who they were until they were certain it was safe. Harry turned to his left next, and his eye landed upon the slight form of Whiskey as she climbed nimbly out of her pod.

“Elizabeth,” he called, his voice warm. He had come to be most fond of the lovely young woman in the time since regaining his memory, both for the way she had treated him Before, and for how very intelligent and skillful the new agent had proven herself to be After. Whiskey smiled in return before turning her attention to her own left, where Harry could see Champ just emerging from his pod. Harry gave the Statesman head a nod of acknowledgement, then turned his attention to his right.

Lancelot was just pushing herself free of her pod as its door settled to a halt above her head; past her, in front of the pod that he knew held Galahad, there stood an unfamiliar figure just beginning to key a command into the pod’s control pad. Harry found himself moving before he realized he had even fully stepped free of and released his hold on his pod, stepping confidently past Lancelot and Merlin- and Percival, across from Lancelot, he belatedly noted- towards the figure that posed a potential threat to his Eg- to one of his agents.

“ _Just a moment_.” The figure wore a gas mask; the voice that spoke from it was distorted, somewhere between tenors, and they held one hand up with their palm facing him as they continued to type on the control pad. Harry forced himself to still, unwilling to disrupt anything in the waking process for Galahad, wary of any consequences that might result in. He used the moment to run his gaze fully over the stranger, for what little good it did him. They were heavily clothed, a long and dusty western style duster worn over a sort of flat black armor that fell flat over their chest; their trousers were cut from a thick, hardy leather, meant to protect and last through many a danger; their gloves were thick and made from the same dark leather; it was their boots Harry had first heard thudding away from his pod when he’d awoken, a rugged combat style of boot that had seen much wear and tear in their time; a large rifle hung across their back from a strap, strings of ammunition secured around their several belts; a tough helmet completed the ensemble. Whoever- or _whatever_ \- the stranger was, they had come armed and ready for business.

It was a moment later- or perhaps an eternity, Harry wasn’t sure, time seemed to stand still, on a precipice, as Galahad’s fate hung in the balance- before the stranger stepped away from the control pad. There was a loud hiss of air, and then the door to the pod was raising slowly. The stranger stepped back then, clear of the pod door, and turned fully to face Harry. Harry forced himself to focus on them, Lancelot pushing past the stranger in his stead to help her fellow agent from his cold sleep.

“ _Follow me,_ ” the figure said in that distorted tone. Harry nodded, keeping his expression polite, and motioned them forward. He fell into step behind them as they began to move back down the walkway between the row of pods; the wakening agents all made way for the two of them to walk unhindered. The stranger’s pace was quick and steady, familiar with the layout of the vault as they led Harry up and out of the cryo-bay and towards the upper levels of the vault.

The vault was pristine, Harry noted to himself as they walked, with no signs of having been inhabited. The other doors in the cryo-bay were all closed, seemingly untouched by the stranger, a fact that was of some concern to the spy. That the stranger had passed all those other doors, had opened only the one that led to the crypods of the Statesman and Kingsman _agents_ … it could be no mere coincidence.

He bit back a frown as the stranger led him into an empty conference room; supplies were laid out on the table in the middle of the room, different packs and gear that indicated the stranger had not only just arrived at the vault. As the door closed behind him, Harry didn’t wait for the figure to still or settle down before clearing his throat and speaking;

“My associates and I seem to be in your debt for awakening us,” he began, “but I’m afraid you have me at a bit of a loss. This wasn’t quite how we had expected our awakening to occur.”

And that- that was something of an understatement. The cryopods had been on a timer, scheduled to keep everyone in stasis for a set number of years to allow the radiation of the fallout to dissipate; when the time had expired, it was Merlin who was to have been awakened first- alone- so that he could take stock of the situation above ground. Merlin would then have had the option of either awakening the rest of their organization- it wasn’t only the agents who had been frozen, but also all of their support teams and staff- or resetting the timer and returning to stasis himself. That a _stranger_ had awakened them…

“ _I need your help,_ ” the stranger replied. They had stopped at the head of the table, in front of a large pack that lay open. Gloved hands reached up and began to work at the fastenings of their headgear.

“Our help?” Harry arched an eyebrow at the statement. That was unexpected. “I’m not sure what kind of help we can provide, my friend, unless you’re in need of a good, stiff drink. Our corporation was a distillery before the bombs fell, and heaven knows what state the bombing must have left our equipment in.

The stranger snorted as they released the straps holding their helmet in place; they lifted it off and set it into the pack before them, revealing dark hair shorn short in a sort of military looking cut. As they pulled next at the straps of their mask, they replied; “ _I think we both know that Statesman was more than a distillery_.” There was a pause, their still masked face lifting to look towards him, and he had a feeling they were looking to his left temple. “ _Or do distillery executives often get shot in the head_?”

“I was in the military in my younger years,” Harry answered, adjusting his glasses carefully. He knew the scarring was minimal, covered completely by the blackened left lenses of the glasses; unless this stranger somehow knew his personal history, it was an injury that could easily be explained by his prior service. “War was not a kind bedfellow to anyone, as I’m sure you’re aware given the current state of the world.”

The stranger paused in their fiddling, the mask still in place and fully covering their features; their disdain-tinged amusement was clear, however, even in their distorted tone as they answered; “ _You only received that wound in 2075, Mr. Hart_.”

Something inside Harry hardened. The stranger had his full name. _His_ full name. And Harry’s full name was listed nowhere in the Statesman’s records, seeing as he was not officially a member of that distillery. His voice was a touch cold as he replied; “I’m afraid you have the advantage over me; what was it you said your name was?”

“ _I didn’t_ ,” they replied, and then they finished with the clasps of the mask and pulled it down. Harry scrutinized their face carefully; their features were perfectly androgynous, from their wide dark eyes rimmed with thick lashes, to their pert upturned nose and thin lips, to their delicate chin and chiseled jaw. More revealing than any particularly gendered features was the pink, spiderwebbed scar that crawled its way from their left temple up into their short cropped hairline. The location wasn’t exactly the same as Harry’s- the stranger still had both eyes, to start with- but it was similar enough to cause both his eyebrows to arch. They spoke then, their voice somewhat amused- and still somewhere just between tenors, untelling of their sex or gender. “You can call me Six.”

Harry couldn’t- quite- help himself. Even as he heard the grumbling Merlin would have made at the comment, he asked, “You too?” and gestured to his temple. Six grinned in reply, the expression lighting up their oh so young features- and they were certainly young, younger even than Eggsy had been when he had first picked him up outside of Holborn Police Station. It spoke of the state of the world that one so young was clad as Six was, and not in a good way.

“Me too,” they answered, and settled their mask down into their pack. Their expression grew more serious, however, when they looked up and met Harry’s gaze again. “Like I said- I need your help.”

“What with,” Harry found himself answering, perhaps against his better judgement. Again, he could hear the grumbling Merlin would make- and perhaps Champ as well- for speaking frankly with so little information. Six indeed had the advantage over him, however; knowing Harry’s full name, and even when he had lost his eye, meant that the young stranger knew a great deal more than they should about him, and about their organizations. Perhaps it should only have made him wary- and it did- but it also meant that he needed to learn as much as he could about this stranger, as quickly as he could. Learning about what they were after would be a good start.

“I was a courier, for the Mohave Express. I was on a special run when I received this.” Six gestured to their temple, and Harry nodded. “I was double crossed by one of my employer’s employees, and I lost the shipment. My employer wants me to get it back- but he’s up to something. Something big. And I think you and yours can help me figure it out.”

Six paused, a glimmer in their eyes as they met Harry’s gaze evenly still. Harry found himself asking;

“Your employer?”

“His name is Mr. House… Mr. Robert Edwin House.”

Harry froze. He _knew_ that name. That name was the reason he and the other agents had been at the Las Vegas Statesman branch when the bombs had fallen. They had been in the middle of an investigation into Robert House, regarding some very concerning activities that had been noted to have been made by the man.

He saw it, as Six saw his reserve harden then and there. The young courier smirked, and there was a look of victory in their eyes. Harry smirked right back.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me for a moment, my friend. I believe my associates and I have some business to discuss. Fear not, however; I have a feeling that we will be able to reach an accord regarding your…. employer.”

He didn’t know yet, how many years they had been in stasis. And he didn’t know how Robert House was still alive and kicking and causing trouble. But, as he nodded to Six and turned to head back down to the lower levels of the vault, he had a feeling they were about to be in for an interesting showdown.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're on tumblr, you can find me at [MakethWoman](http://makethwoman.tumblr.com). Feel free to come say hi!


End file.
